East Blue, Cape Town.
The sun was blinding, and a gentle sea breeze brushed against the shore. Waves rhythmically lapped the sandy beach, while the distant clamor of voices and the cries of unknown birds drifted through the air.
Ronan opened his eyes, his vision immediately swallowed by an almost dazzling shade of azure. It was a sky he had never seen before—clear, boundless, a blue so pure it felt as though it could wash the soul.
"Where... am I?" he whispered, his throat so dry he could barely make a sound.
Ronan pushed himself up with both hands. Looking at his reflection in the seawater, he caught sight of himself—or rather, a stranger's body. It was powerful, standing at 185 centimeters with broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and distinct muscle lines. Every inch of him teemed with vitality. This was not his original body; it was more perfect than the one he had spent over twenty years tempering through martial arts.
Suddenly— Whir—
A strange vibration resonated within his mind. A pale blue light screen slowly manifested before his eyes.
[Unwavering Perseverance System Loading...][The Sole Rule: As long as you do not stop training, your strength will grow without end.]
Host: Ronan
Strength: 10
Speed: 10
Physique: 10
Spirit: 10
Skill: Xingyi Thirteen Spears (Proficient)
Combat Evaluation: Elite among ordinary humans.
The characters on the screen shimmered slightly in the air. Ronan was stunned. Born into a family of martial artists, he had walked the path of Xingyi since childhood, believing only in his own hard-earned strength. Yet, what was happening before him was inexplicable, yet undeniably real.
He had died once. And now, he lived again—in an entirely new world.
A wave crashed against his ankles. From the distance, he heard faint shouts and... crying?
Ronan snapped his head up. Looking past the rolling sand dunes, he saw a nearby town engulfed in flames, with black smoke billowing into the sky. Shouts of slaughter and screams of agony were carried over by the wind.
He did not hesitate. With a light tap of his toes, his body took flight like a hunting hawk. Within a few leaps, he reached the outskirts of the town. Beneath the jagged shadows of ruined houses, he witnessed the scene: dozens of pirates in tattered coats, wielding cutlasses, were massacring the inhabitants.
An old man, clutching a shovel, stood protectively in front of a child crying "Grandpa!"
"Run! Hurry!" the old man roared hoarsely.
"Old geezer, just die!" a pirate with a scarred face sneered, swinging his blade downward.
The blade cut through the air. Seeing this, Ronan realized that he was no longer in his original world. These thugs looked exactly like the legendary pirates he had heard of.
In the blink of an eye, just as the old man was about to be brutally murdered, Ronan reacted. He reached down, snatched up a wooden stick from the ground, and stomped—the earth beneath him exploded in a cloud of dust.
An instant later, he appeared behind the pirate. The stick lunged forward like a dragon, strikes as swift as thunder!
Thwack!
The stick pierced straight through the pirate's chest. The pirate's sneer froze on his face. Before he could even scream, his body went limp and collapsed. Blood dripped from the wooden stick, staining the ground like blossoming flowers.
Ronan exhaled softly and flicked the stick, shaking off the corpse. He looked at the old man. "Who are these people?"
The old man scrambled up, his voice trembling. "Pir... Pirates! They are pirates! Young man, run! They even dare to kill the Marines—"
Before he could finish:
[System Notification: Host has entered combat state. Training Multiplier x3]
Whir—
Ronan's pupils contracted sharply. The blood in his body began to boil like an erupting volcano. Low popping sounds echoed from his bones and sinews; he could clearly feel that every breath he took was making him stronger.
"Training... can actually happen during combat?"
The corner of his mouth curled slightly, and a long-lost battle intent flickered in his eyes. The sea wind howled as the sunlight highlighted his resolute profile. He leveled the wooden stick slowly, holding it as if it were a silent iron spear.
His chest heaved, and his blood surged like fire. In his previous life, he had practiced the Xingyi Thirteen Spears day and night, never resting. Back then, every bit of progress was bought with sweat and pain. But now, simply by entering a fight, he could feel his power rising.
That direct sensation of growth made his heart tremble—a mixture of shock and ecstasy.
"This body... this talent..." Ronan muttered, his fingers curling. His knuckles let out a crisp crack.
Perfect. This physical vessel was born for martial arts.
He looked past the smoke and chaos at the pirates in the distance. Under the sunlight, their hideous laughter sounded like a demonic chorus. Townspeople were fleeing in all directions, their cries filling the air. It looked like hell had descended upon the earth.
Ronan lowered his gaze and said in a deep voice, "Old man, leave. Now."
The old man froze, staring at the youth. Though young, the man radiated an aura that commanded respect—not through shouting, but through a cold resolve embedded in his very bones. The old man understood: this young man... would not retreat.
Gritting his teeth, the old man grabbed his grandson and ran toward the edge of the town.
Watching the old man's retreating figure, Ronan took a deep breath, his soles gripping the earth.
BOOM!
Power erupted, sending gravel flying like shrapnel. Amidst the rising dust, his body shot forward like an arrow released from a bowstring. At this moment, his heart was clearer and more tranquil than ever before. It wasn't numbness, but rather the "void-like" state of a warrior—the Taoist heart found only by those who have tempered themselves through a thousand trials between life and death.
He felt the flow of battle intent, almost hearing the low hum of his own soul.
"Since this is a new world where one can cultivate..." he whispered, uttering the final words softly. "Then let them witness the meaning of—Xingyi."
His figure vanished instantly.
A sudden gale rose as killing intent surged like a tide. Holding his wooden stick at a downward angle, Ronan streaked into the town like a line of shadow. His footwork was as steady as a mountain yet as light as a roaming dragon—the "Dragon-Tiger" stride of Xingyi.
Whoosh!
He wove through the din of the battlefield, his aura as sharp as a blade's edge. Up ahead, a pirate held a young girl by the shoulder, a cruel smirk plastered on his face. Just as that smirk reached its peak—Ronan arrived!
"Tiger Descending the Mountain!"
The Seventh Stance of the Xingyi Thirteen Spears. It relied entirely on the explosive power of the waist and arms; the movement had to be fluid, without a hint of hesitation. Traditionally, it required the perfect coordination of hands, eyes, body, and steps. But for Ronan, who had immersed himself in this spear art for twenty years, the technique had long been mastered to the point of instinct, no longer bound by rigid forms.
Ronan leaped, landing directly in front of the pirate. The stick lunged out like a spear, accompanied by the whistle of breaking air.
Swish!
The air was torn asunder. The tip of the stick swept across the pirate's throat in a flash. The force was so immense that the man's scream was cut short before it could even begin.
THUD!
A dull impact echoed. Blood sprayed as the pirate was sent flying several meters, slamming heavily onto the ground. His neck was snapped; he was dead before he hit the stones.
In the middle of the town, Ronan stood alone with his stick, his expression cold and detached. Blood dripped from the tip of the wood, staining the cobblestones at his feet. Feeling the strength within him growing steadily, a light flashed in Ronan's eyes. In that moment, he saw the path ahead—an infinite road of cultivation.
And this sea was to be his trial grounds.